


John is Actually a Girl's Name

by statesofuncertainty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AGRA can bloody well fuck off, First Kiss, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Requited Love, Romance, That baby is not John's, post-tab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statesofuncertainty/pseuds/statesofuncertainty
Summary: John moved the arm that was pressed up against Sherlock, and gently lay his hand on top of the detective's. Sherlock froze, his eyes staring at their hands, and when John leaned his head to rest on Sherlock's shoulder the detective stopped breathing.





	

The Afternoon had flown by what with all the inquires that Sherlock had insisted on carrying out as soon as he stepped off the plane. Within minutes of entering London, Sherlock demanded he be let out and Mycroft allowed it on condition that John go with him. The teetering detective was clearly in need of support and John exited, ignoring his wife's restraining hand and the following death glare she sent his way. She would have followed them but there are some things even A.G.R.A couldn't do in her third trimester.

The third trimester of a pregnancy that John wasn't even sure was his. The time spent living at Baker street before Christmas had given him time to think, if Mary was willing to lie to him about her entire life and personality, why wouldn't she lie about her sexual relations? They had never had unprotected sex, and John was at a loss to think of a time when there might have been even a remote possibility of fertilization—because in the stressful month leading up to the wedding, they had had fewer then 3 sexual encounters, all of which had been very safe.

They paid visits to a few minor criminals and one self-described inventor before they found themselves in a busy bookstore and in what must have been a split second Sherlock was gone, and John looked around worried that the detective had passed out, but a though check of the store and the surrounding area revealed nothing. Until he chanced to look up.

The scream caught in his throat and he desperately grasped for the nearest wall for support as the world spun. The nausea knocked the wind out of his lungs before Ella's soothing voice told him to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In and out. Sherlock was not on a roof, he was on a balcony on the top floor. Sherlock was not standing ready to jump, but rather leaning on the iron railing gazing off into the distance. Thankfully no one on the busy street had noticed his panic attack, and clearing his throat he made his way around to the fire escape he had noticed a few minutes before. Looking up one last time he found himself helplessly admiring the striking form that kept staring into the horizon as if he was interrogating it.

The balcony was part of the old Georgian building and offered an unobstructed view of the surrounding city. The noise of the busy street was muffled and this spot seemed to offer a private area despite it's position above the busy street. John was only a little out of breath as he stepped off the fire escape and quietly took his place beside the taller man.

“Tired?” He asked.

Sherlock's distant gaze did not waver.

“How long till you start feeling withdrawal symptoms?”

Sherlock's eyes darted towards him before refocusing on the city skyline “6 hours.”

John gave a curt nod, “Will you need more?”

The detective gave a mirthless laugh “What choice do I have?”

“You could stop.”

“It hurts too much to stop.”

“I know; but there are medications and-”

“That's not what I meant. Physical pain is tolerable.”

John's brows furrowed, going by what Mycroft had said on the plane, Sherlock had been using drugs intermittently since he had met him, but it wasn't very often and there were only two instances that he could remember when he had mistaken Sherlock's drug abuse for mind palace exploration. What had changed? He grimaced, he knew the answer, had known it since Sherlock had told him that Mary-or whatever her real name is-was pregnant.

It had been a mistake. He knew it the instant he had forgiven Sherlock, but Mary knew he had been offering her marriage and he couldn't just abandon her so he married her. He married her and she murdered Sherlock. John could barely remember anything about that night except for the astonishment on the face of the doctor as he came to personally tell John that Sherlock's survival was nothing less then a miracle.

Physical pain is tolerable, but emotional pain is deadly. John smiled and slowly moved closer to the detective until their shoulders were pressed together as they both stood leaning on the balcony railing 4 floors above the street.

Sherlock tensed but his gaze remained fixed, John tilted his head quizzically and watched Sherlock, a small smile playing on his lips. Sherlock's forearms were extended out over the street, his hands in loose fists, John moved the arm that was pressed up against Sherlock, and gently lay his hand on top of the detective's. Sherlock froze, his eyes staring at their hands, and when John leaned his head to rest on Sherlock's shoulder the detective stopped breathing.

John rubbed his thumb in circles over Sherlock's knuckles and said “Breathe.”

The detective made no move so John tilted his head upwards and looked at the taller man's ashen face, “Sherlock?”

Panic-stricken eyes met his and John straightened, and holding Sherlock's hand even tighter he turned so that they were both facing each other.

“Sherlock? Breathe.”

The detective kept staring at him unblinkingly so John raised his free hand and let it rest along the side of that beautiful face, “Breathe. It's alright.”

Sherlock's face contorted and the first inhale sounded more like a broken sob. John let his hand fall and he embraced the shaking man who melted into his arms.

“Sshhh, it's okay, I know, sshhh I know, and I am sorry.”

Sherlock made a noise that might have been an attempt at speech but it failed miserably and the brunette buried his face into John's shoulder.

Turning his face into the mass of curls that lay on his shoulder John took a deep breath, the scent of Sherlock's shampoo and the underlying musky smell made him close his eyes for a few minutes before he began in a rather gravelly voice, “Sherlock—I just wanted to say that 'John' is a girl's name too. It always has been and always will be”

The body pressed against his stilled, and a long moment later, the mass of curls rose and Sherlock's downcast eyes attempted to make eye contact but failed, “Do you mean that?”

John reached out and cradling Sherlock's face in both hands he smiled, “Yes. I do”

Sherlock finally met his gaze, “You do?”

“I do.” John said pressing a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this one for a while, I figure I might as well publish it before s4 makes a canon love confession scene. IT HAS BEEN SIX FUCKING YEARS. LET THEM KISS. *cries in a corner*


End file.
